Page 20 of The Difference of a Darcy
He focused his attention on Elizabeth, who had risen to her feet upon his entrance. “Mr. Darcy,” she said in a cool voice, “this is certainly a surprise.”
The tone startled him slightly, and he faltered. “I… I hope I do not intrude.”
She remained standing. Her hands were loosely clasped before her, and though her expression was polite, it held no warmth.
He tried not to let that unsettle him. She was guarded. Of course she was. A gentleman did not show up unannounced to a lady’s drawing room in hopes of declaring himself without producing some measure of confusion.
“I had hoped for a moment to speak with you privately,” he said, gesturing faintly toward the chair across from hers. “May I?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course.”
He sat. She did the same. The fire crackled between them, and for a long moment, neither spoke.
Then he began.
“I find it difficult to know where to start.” He glanced down, then back to her. “Perhaps it would be best to be direct.”
Her gaze did not falter.
“I have come,” he said, “to ask you to be my wife.”
He paused—not for effect, but because the words themselves held weight enough to steal his breath.
“I cannot pretend this decision was made without difficulty. I struggled—sincerely—against the many disadvantages of such a match. Your family's situation… your relations… even your mother’s behavior at times…” He trailed off, then pressed forward with resolve. “But despite every rational objection, I find myself unable to conquer my feelings. I love you.”
Elizabeth did not move.
Interpreting her silence as shock, he leaned closer, encouraged.
“I am not blind to the disparity in our situations, Miss Bennet. My connections, my income, my obligations—they all speak against such a union. Were I to consult only reason, I would not be here. But I cannot be silent any longer. I cannot fight it.”
He gave her the barest smile. “Against my judgment, my family’s expectations, and every possible consideration of propriety—my heart has chosen you.”
Something flickered in her expression, but it wasn’t the joy he expected to see. Still, he pressed on. “I cannot forget you. I do not want to forget you. I have watched you—at Netherfield, and here—and I cannot help but admire your honesty, your wit, your conviction. You are unlike anyone I have ever known.”
Her fingers tightened slightly over the arm of the chair.
“I am aware,” he added quickly, “that your connections may be considered a disadvantage. But I no longer care.” He stood and crossed the space between them, taking her hand in his. “Miss Bennet, I offer you my heart. Marry me.”
Another silence followed.
Darcy waited.
Elizabeth drew a breath, then said, “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. But I cannot accept.” Her voice was calm. Quiet. And colder than the frost outside.
Wait… what?
∞∞∞
Even as she said it, Elizabeth scarcely believed the words had come from her own lips.
Her heart was racing. Her hands, damp and cold, gripped the fabric of her gown where it pooled in her lap. She had not expected this—notthis. She had expected perhaps another stilted conversation, a silent stare, another moment in which he observed her like some curious insect beneath glass.
But this?
He hadproposed.
He had walked into this room and asked her to marry him, in the same tone one might offer a lady the last of the fish course. Earnest, yes—but laden with conditions. An apology and an insult, offered side by side like wine and vinegar.
